Prison Planet

by William C. Dietz

  “A fair question,” Honcho agreed. “Vanessa?”

  Vanessa stood once more. Marla watched in reluctant admiration as she turned on the charm. “They may be criminals, Burt, but I think we can trust them. First, let's take a look at their track record. They risked their lives to save us from the roos, and could have killed us any number of times after that, but didn't. Second, I suggest we offer them a full pardon upon completion of our field studies, a reward which should guarantee their loyalty.”

  At this point Chin came to his feet and said, “I agree with Vanessa. We need their help, and I for one trust them to give it.”

  Then Jumo stood, white teeth flashing as he said, “I agree. If I didn't, my friend Renn wouldn't be walking around with a blaster tucked under his left arm, and a derringer in his boot.”

  There was general laughter as he sat down. Renn felt a little silly as he remembered his plans to steal the shuttle. Jumo had been two steps ahead of him all the way, anticipating both the temptation and the final decision.

  These last two endorsements came so quickly, and easily, that Marla wondered if Vanessa had lobbied the two men ahead of time. Apparently the same thought had occurred to Honcho, because he said, “Thank you for the spontaneous demonstration of consensus. Are there any other comments?”

  “Well,” Burt said apologetically, “I don't want to seem negative or something, but do we have the power to pardon criminals?”

  Honcho stared at him for a moment, which though somewhat disconcerting, was the Finthian equivalent of a thoughtful look. “That's a good question, Burt. The answer is ‘no,’ not specifically. However, as the individual that Vanessa sometimes allows to act as team leader, I have certain broad powers which should be sufficient. And even though I sense a certain amount of maneuvering here, I think her idea is basically sound, and I agree.” He turned towards Renn and Marla. “How about it you two? Would you agree to Vanessa's proposal?”

  Renn, his excitement almost bursting through his chest, nodded in the affirmative. Marla, her feelings a confused mix of elation and sadness, did likewise.

  “In that case,” Honcho intoned solemnly. “It's my pleasure to welcome you to our team.”

  Chapter Ten

  “You lied to us.” Marla made the words a half growl. She and Renn were sitting at a small table across from Honcho and Vanessa. The lights in the conference room were turned down to enhance the series of holos they'd just seen.

  “Not true,” Honcho replied calmly. “We left some things out, but everything we told you was true.”

  “Really?” Renn inquired mildly. “You're supposedly performing biological research on native lifeforms.”

  “And we are,” Vanessa assured him. “Remember Burt?”

  Renn remembered the burly scientist with the full beard and shaved head. “Yeah, the guy who wondered if we were such a good idea.”

  Honcho cackled and Vanessa smiled. “Well Burt's a research biologist, a damned good one by the way, and he really is studying native lifeforms. He went crazy over the roo specimens we brought him. However, it's true that some of us are doing research in other areas as well.”

  Renn had arrived expecting a lecture on the scientific team and the biological research it hoped to perform. But Honcho had talked about artifact planets instead, indicating that Swamp might be such a world, and admitting that biological research was not the team's main purpose. Boater's ruins immediately came to mind, but Renn said nothing, waiting to see where the advantage might lay.

  So Renn listened with considerable interest as Honcho told how most of the artifact worlds were discovered during the early years of space exploration, how they were empty of intelligent life, and how the similarities between artifacts found on various worlds left no doubt as to their common place in a single culture. And he admitted that science still had no answers for the big questions. Where did the Builders go? Was there a war? Some sort of interstellar disease? Unfortunately time, weather, and geologic upheaval had erased most of the answers.

  But every now and then someone would stumble onto a handful of artifacts protected by luck and happenstance from the ravages of time. They would become an overnight sensation, appearing on every holo cast in the empire, proudly clutching this or that artifact while telling exaggerated tales of the hardships they'd endured to obtain it. Usually their finds had little or no material value. Most were bits of cryptic writing which defied translation, pieces of enigmatic machinery, works of what could be art, or might be the scribblings of the insane. There was no way to tell the difference. While these objects were highly valued by the scientific community, they held little but passing interest for most, and were quickly forgotten until the next overnight sensation came along.

  Of course every now and then someone would stumble on a valuable find. New technology, precious stones, things which could be sold for a nice profit. People remembered those, and as a result, numerous scientific as well as private expeditions set forth each year, searching for new and unexploited sets of ruins. The more principled scientists deplored the damage done to valuable archeological sites by the private expeditions, while their less principled brethren competed for the right to lead such endeavors.

  Now Honcho's lecture was over. “So,” Renn said, “what makes you think Swamp is an artifact planet?”

  Honcho's saucer-like eyes regarded them solemnly. “I think Swamp is an artifact planet because of what I see there,” he pointed to the holo of Swamp taken from the space station, “and I feel it here,” a claw-like finger tapped his chest.”

  “What Honcho means,” Vanessa added, “is that we have two lines of evidence to support our hypothesis. The first is empirical evidence such as this.” She did something to a small remote, causing Swamp to stop rotating and grow bigger, until a large cylindrical section of equatorial swamp floated above the table. She did something else to the control, and most of the holo went dark, leaving three red blotches.

  “The red zones represent potential archeological sites. It took months of observation, spectroanalysis, infrared photography, and a lot of informed guesswork to narrow our choices down to three.” She looked at Renn, ignoring Marla as if she weren't even there. “And even after all that effort we'll be lucky if one of them pans out. But they're the right size, shape, and density to qualify as productive sites.”

  “And the nonempirical evidence?” Marla inquired, curious as to what sort of nonempirical evidence they would consider valid.

  Vanessa frowned in the way adults do when a child has spoken out of turn, but Honcho preempted her reply. “I'm the nonempirical evidence. Or something in here is.” He once again tapped his chest. “For some reason even we don't understand, Finthians seem to have a natural affinity for the builders, and the artifacts they left behind. A few years ago a human archeologist noticed that Finthians seemed to find a lot more artifacts than anyone else did. At first he doubted his own theory, suspecting himself of professional jealousy, or even a touch of xenophobia. But his feeling was so strong he decided to put it to the test. So he tabulated all known finds along with the race of those credited with the discovery. It turned out that Finthians had found two sites for every one turned up by humans or members of other races. Subsequent studies showed that this trend held up even when variables such as education and experience were factored in.”

  “Like Honcho said,” Vanessa added, “no one knows why or how Finthians do it. The most popular theory posits some sort of racial memory. There are an unusual number of artifact sites inside Finthian space, and perhaps the two races are somehow linked, by bonds so ancient that conscious memory of them has been forgotten. In any case the decision was made to take advantage of this special sensitivity. That's why Finthians were not only included in our staff, they're in charge.”

  “A fact Vanessa frequently chooses to ignore,” Honcho added dryly. “In any case, perhaps you can see why we must maintain a cover story. If word got out we'd have all sorts of people flocking here, not to ment
ion the potential problems with your friends on the surface. Wholesale looting might ensue, leading to the loss of priceless scientific knowledge.”

  “Or priceless new technology,” Renn added sourly. “I doubt that our government, or yours, is funding this project out of the goodness of their hearts.”

  Honcho nodded agreeably. “Quite true. But that doesn't lessen the validity or importance of our scientific mission.”

  “Given Swamp's unique potential,” Marla asked, “then why make it a prison planet?”

  “A damned good question,” Honcho said soberly, “and one which we can't answer. A review of the original survey shows enough preliminary evidence to warrant an investigation but none took place. In the rush to identify and populate prison planets, they did some pretty sloppy follow-up, and apparently Swamp's potential was glossed over. It was years before someone stumbled across the data, realized its importance, and took steps to let us know. And, by the time we got the proper authorities to do something about it, prisoners were already in residence. Taking them off isn't practical so we decided to work around them.”

  “Which,” Vanessa added, “brings us to you. With your knowledge of Swamp to guide us, we've got a good chance of reaching the red zones and investigating them.”

  “Well I've got some good news for you,” Renn said with a grin. “There are extensive ruins on Swamp, and while I can't be sure they're the kind you're looking for, it sounds like they'd be worth a peek.”

  Honcho and Vanessa were silent for a moment as they processed this new piece of information, and then they went simultaneously crazy. The Finthian gabbled excitedly as Vanessa whooped with joy and dived across the table to throw her arms around Renn's neck. As Vanessa's lips met Renn's, Marla shook her head in disgust, and pattered off towards her quarters. Why should she watch them play kissy face when she could take a nap?

  Three days later they landed on Swamp. Everyone felt better when a nervous Lt. Fitz closed the shuttle's main hatch and lifted. Not only was the shuttle vulnerable on the ground, its comings and goings were like a huge ad saying, “Easy pickings! Come and get ’em!” Fortunately, however, the shuttle managed to land and take off again without incident.

  Fred was just as they'd left him, and it took three trips just to get staff, supplies and equipment from the LZ to Boater's ruins. There were fourteen people altogether, including, Renn, Marla, Vanessa, Honcho, Chin, Jumo, and eight marines. Five of the marines were greenies from the station, while three were veterans of the shuttle crash, including Doc, Issacs and Ford. It was a lot of people, more than Renn thought wise, but Vanessa and Honcho insisted. They were accustomed to expeditions which employed hundreds of skilled laborers and a small army of robots.

  At least Jumo was sympathetic. He listened intently as Renn told of the underground passageways and outlined the safest avenues of approach.

  Fred meanwhile sat bobbing in the channel loaded down with excited scientists. The ruins were not only sitting right in the middle of the number two red zone, they were classic examples of Builder design, or at least that's the way it seemed. Subsequent study would either confirm or deny it. In the meantime they entertained themselves by scraping away at the artificial embankments and shooting holos of everything in sight.

  All except Honcho. He was everywhere at once, delighting in the symmetry of the canal one moment, and marveling at the fine texture of its artificial banks the next. They'd almost lost him. In spite of Renn's advice to the contrary, and Jumo's obvious concern, the Finthian had insisted on performing his own aerial survey. Everyone turned out to watch. With the exception of Renn, none of them had ever seen a Finthian fly. Oblivious to their curiosity, Honcho unfolded the large Wings tucked away behind his arms, and waddled down a secure section of trail. Some of the marines made whispered bets as to whether he'd make it. Due to his somewhat portly figure the odds stacked heavily against him. However a few seconds later Honcho was airborne and quite graceful, too. But moments later an adult lifter spotted the scientist while circling upwards and damned near got him. Fortunately, Jumo hit the monster with a lucky shot. Meanwhile, Honcho crash landed in a swampy area and ended up neck deep in mud. Even after hours of grooming his plumage was still a mess. Undaunted, the plucky scientist continued to dash this way and that.

  The rest of the scientists were equally eager to get out and prowl around, but first Renn, Marla, and the marines would have to secure the area, and that would take some doing. A quick inspection by Marla confirmed that the ruins were thick with monsters, and since most of the marines were inexperienced, Jumo picked Issacs, Ford and Doc to take part in the initial sweep. That left the other five marines to guard the scientists and the boat.

  Marla took the point as they entered the jungle. All her senses were cranked up to max and working well thanks to the free tune-up she'd received on the station. Of course a real tune-up would require a qualified cyber tech and a fully equipped lab, nonetheless, Chin and some of the station's technicians had succeeded in repairing quite a bit of the minor damage she'd suffered during her early days on Swamp. So she felt better than she had in a very long time. And best of all she was doing something useful while Vanessa sat on the boat. Her fear was plain to see and Marla couldn't help gloating.

  The jungle was hot and moist. White ground mist drifted upwards as the warmth of the sun gradually found its way down to the jungle floor and released the moisture trapped there. Broad leaves made a swishing sound as they slid along her sides, and her paws made little sucking noises as she moved. The smell of rotting vegetation hung heavily on the air, along with the rich fragrance of exotic flowers, and the slightly acidic odor of roo urine.

  As she pushed deeper into the jungle Marla was careful to avoid the game trails which criss-crossed the island. While the trails would make travel easier they could also make it a good deal more dangerous. There might be more of the slug-like things lurking below or an ambush waiting around a bend. So it might be slower to go through the jungle but it was a whole lot safer.

  So far so good. No sign of anything too scary. Lots of roo tracks, they'd already replenished themselves since Renn and Boater had hunted here, but nothing unusual. She cleared her throat self-consciously, and said, “Come ahead. Lots of roo tracks ... but otherwise clear.”

  Chin had placed a voice activated mic around her neck and coupled it to a tiny transmitter. She didn't need a receiver having her own built-in version. At first she'd refused to wear the transmitter, hating anything which even looked like the explosive collar Skunk had forced her to wear, but Renn had sweet-talked her into it. Good communications could save lives he said, and since one of those lives might be his, he'd appreciate her cooperation. She'd relented.

  Having heard her report via the tiny plug in his ear, Jumo answered, “We read you loud and clear, Marla. We're moving up.” There was no need to wave the others forward, since they, too, were equipped with radios.

  They advanced in a long open line. Each person found their own way through the thick undergrowth but kept the others in sight. Renn hoped to drive the monsters towards the other end of the island while killing as many as they could. It was a ruthless way to get the job done, but no worse than hunting, and absolutely necessary. Burt and the other biologists were still trying to figure out why the normally anti-social roo monsters had gathered in a large herd and then preceded to run amok. There were numerous theories which dealt with mating, overpopulation, and intermittent tribalism. But none had been proved. So, until the scientists came up with something solid, the only safe roo was a dead roo.

  “Contact.” The laconic voice belonged to Doc. Renn saw blue light stutter to his right, but made no move to help, mindful of Jumo's instructions not to.

  “If you need help we'll come running,” the section leader had said, teeth flashing. “But if you can handle it yourself then do so. Otherwise we'll bunch up and make a tempting target for any human types that might be hanging around. Watch your field of fire too. If you shoot one of ou
rs you'll do all the paperwork.”

  So Doc handled it herself, hosing the undergrowth with lethal energy, and sending up a mist of steam and smoke. They were armed with energy weapons at Renn's request. Slug throwers made too much noise and would be used only in the case of emergency.

  “Roos. Two dead. One got away.” Renn smiled at Doc's report. Short and to the point.

  The hunt went on for another three hours, and by the time Renn called it quits, the team had bagged forty-eight monsters of various kinds. Both Honcho and the less experienced marines were fascinated by the dead creatures, and peppered Renn and Marla with questions.

  Once the impromptu biology lesson was over they had to dispose of the bodies before the presence of all that meat brought unwelcome visitors. Renn hated to waste all those skins, but if things went well, he'd soon be out of the hunting business and it wouldn't matter.

  The carcasses were loaded aboard Fred and taken out into the lake, where they were dumped off. The water was soon seething with hungry diners.

  By the time Fred returned to shore it was almost dark. Since Fred couldn't accommodate the entire team, Renn led them to the great hall, where Boater's crude furniture sat undisturbed. Vanessa and Honcho pronounced the site acceptable and were soon aiming their flashlights into dark corners and gabbling happily.

  It took a number of trips to get everything off Fred and up to the camp. But once the folding furniture was set up, and the lamps lit, the great hall was almost homey. People made giant shadows on the walls as they got up and moved about. Chin and a marine named Red drew kitchen detail and set about making dinner. It consisted of standard rats supplemented with seasonings brought along for that purpose. Much to Renn's amazement it wasn't too bad.

  Having cleaned his plate, Renn waited until everyone else had finished, and drifted over towards Vanessa. She was busy laying out her sleeping bag. She smiled at his approach. “Hi, Jonathan. This is absolutely incredible! Every once in a while I pinch myself just to make sure it's real.”